The Truce
by EspoirDio
Summary: Secret Santa oneshot for CCNilesBabcock!


**A/N: Just a little Secret Santa Christmas story for CCNilesBabcock! I'm sorry I didn't have time for something bigger, but I really wanted it to be finished for Christmas. :)**

 _The Truce_

Maxwell Sheffield had decided to treat the family this year by splurging some of his hard earned cash on a trip to the snowy mountains of Vermont. Niles, the Sheffields' trusted butler, had initially reacted to the announcement with some trepidation. After all, _he_ would be the one doing the packing for four people and the driving for five, not to mention the cooking of copious amounts of food required of him once they were settled and the holidays were in full swing.

Fortunately, the sight of the luxurious cabin nestled in midst of a lush green forest consoled him somewhat. While the family bounded into the warmth of the cabin, he stood ankle deep in snow, lifting the various pieces of luggage out of the trunk of the car.

Only a little bit longer, he told himself as the cold seeped through his shoes and socks, and then he'd be able to withdraw to the peace and quiet of his room. He knew better, of course, than to trust his friend's insistence that they'd only make use of him when necessity dictated it, but he was determined this time to stand his ground and fight his case. After all, he had been in Maxwell's employ for quite a number of years and he deserved a bit of time off, too.

He deposited the first set of luggage in the living room, welcomed by shouts of "I'm not sharing a room with you!" and "Brighton, I said I wanted that room!" and quickly turned around again to grab the second load. When he stepped back into the warmth and kicked the door shut behind him nothing much had changed and rolling his eyes at the disharmony, he climbed the stairs, his own valise in hand, humming "Silent Night" wryly to himself. By the sounds of it, this wasn't going to be a particularly peaceful Christmas.

Still, time slipped by relatively quickly and before they knew it Christmas Eve was upon them. Niles had slaved away in the kitchen the whole day and created a feast so scrumptious no-one failed to commend him for it. Glad to be cherished at least, he let go of the grudge he'd been holding since their arrival and stayed with them through the exchange of the first presents and later still when the children had withdrawn to their respective rooms.

The conversation was pleasant and amusing, peppered as it was with ridiculous Fine family anecdotes. It was still infuriating to witness the obvious affection both the producer and the nanny had for each other, the one they refused to act on, but for the moment he was too tired to play matchmaker. Tired enough also to contemplate some particularly hurtful words flung at him not long ago.

Of course it had been Babcock, who else would get under his skin quite like that? It had been she who, in midst of an average bickering match, had suddenly pointed out that perhaps he spent quite so much time invested in the potential relationship of one couple so that he wouldn't have to face the drought in his own love life. The insinuation had stung, even then though he had successfully fended her off with a backhanded compliment about the progress of her weekly therapy sessions.

But now in the cosy warmth of the cabin's living room, he suddenly became all too aware of the shared laughter he wasn't part of and of the lack of a comfortable body pressed against him.

He'd always been the butler. First, to Maxwell, then to Maxwell and his wife and finally to the whole family. But the children were growing up quickly and soon the house would become quiet again. And what then? How would he fill the silence, the void that he'd been so determined to ignore?

Thankfully, he was saved from pondering the conundrum for now by a knock on the front door that instantly commanded attention.

"Are we expecting anyone?" Maxwell asked, looking to Niles for answers, as if he had x-ray vision and could see through the door and determine who had deemed to drop in on them unannounced.

"I wouldn't know, Sir," he answered politely, just about managing to ban the dryness from his tone, "but I can assure you I have not invited any secret guests."

Quickly, the producer's head snapped in the direction of the nanny.

"Maybe it's Santa?" she guessed, grinning from ear to ear, completely happy to ignore the exasperated look the suggestion earned her.

Then, just as quickly, the producer's attention rested back on him and Niles gave an equally exasperated sigh.

"Shall I get it?" he asked, plastering an obviously fake smile on his face.

"Thanks, Niles!" the nanny cooed loudly as he hoisted himself out of the comfortable armchair and trudged grumpily towards the front door.

He could already feel the draught as it seeped over the threshold.

"Well, Nanny Fine," he concluded once he saw who had arrived so late, "it looks like a man. It has a beard," he paused to rub his thumb over his cheeks as if indicating a stubble, "as for the rest? Say ho ho ho!"

"Oh, for God's sake, Niles!" the blonde woman bristled impatiently. "It is absolutely freezing out here."

And without another word she pushed past him and into the house.

He grinned to himself, instantly buoyed by her appearance, even though he didn't get the time to make a snarky comment about her natural habitat. It wouldn't have been the first time he would have settled for that quip either, but she was clearly wound tight enough already for any comment to be sufficient to get her to explode.

He really hadn't thought she'd show up at all. Granted, she'd been invited by Maxwell – out of courtesy, no doubt – but she had quickly declined, blaming it on some other engagement with her family. He should've known then and there that she was lying.

Still grinning like the cat who got the cream, he followed her into the living room where Nanny Fine was practically fawning over her. It was obvious to him that she only meant well, placing great emphasis on the role of the family at Christmas time, but based on the look on C.C. Babcock's face, she might as well have been pulling out a tooth.

Unfortunately, in just that moment a Christmas miracle happened. Maxwell Sheffield, otherwise quite possibly the densest man in existence, noticed his business partner's discomfort and suggested they withdraw to their rooms to relax. Niles could have happily spent a few more moments watching her squirm.

"You must be tired from the trip," Maxwell said cordially, one hand on the nanny's back to gently manoeuvre her up the stairs.

His interest in her person seemed, as always, superficial at best.

"Yes, I must be out of my mind travelling today."

"That's not exactly news to anyone present," Niles quipped playfully and earned a scolding look from his employer.

"Well, the important thing is that you're here now," he added, "I'm sure Niles will be happy to warm you up some of the leftovers."

And with that the two of them disappeared upstairs.

"I'm sure kibble will do," Niles muttered under his breath and left the blonde standing alone in the living room while he wandered into the kitchen.

So much for a nice, relaxing evening. But then he'd always make an exception for her. He'd done so for the past twenty years. It was stupid, really, he thought while yanking the fridge open to produce the carefully wrapped up food, stupid how long he'd been infatuated with this woman now, knowing all the while that she would never consider him her equal, let alone a potential partner.

Setting the food aside on the counter, he switched on the oven and carried a glass of water out to her while it preheated. But C.C. had already made herself comfortable on the sofa, her little suitcase still marking the spot where he had last seen her standing. Next to her were her hat and coat, discarded carelessly but still in a neat pile. In her hands was a glass filled with amber liquid.

"Good God, Babcock," he scolded, setting the water down in front of her, "no-one is going to yell last call."

"Maybe not," she shrugged, tipping her head into her neck, "but I presume you'll be sticking to me like glue for the foreseeable future so I'm going to be needing this."

"You act as if booze isn't flowing through your veins as we speak," he commented, "I'm sure you got sufficiently liquored up at your mother's."

"I was at Noel's, actually," she replied absent-mindedly, the pad of her thumb tracing the rim of her glass.

For a moment he pondered what it would be like tasting the Whiskey on her lips.

"Still, any Babcock gathering involves alcohol. No need to drink us out of house and home."

C.C.'s face eased into a smile and before long her pale blue eyes found his. He felt a grin forming on his lips, but the insult he expected to hear never came. Instead she kept looking at him with that serene smile until he frowned quizzically and withdrew into the kitchen to put the food into the oven.

It was always unnerving when Babcock did not engage in their usual bickering routine but even more so when she looked pleased to have stayed out of it. Pondering her possible motivation, he stayed in the kitchen until the scent of turkey and roast potatoes made his mouth water. Then he plated everything and carried it back to C.C.

"Something small to go with your main meal," he intoned dryly and she chuckled.

"Enough with the alcohol jokes, Niles, come and take a seat."

Now he was really getting worried.

"Is everything alright?" he frowned, following her instructions. "Did something happen?"

She laughed again, cut herself a thin slice of turkey and held it up to her nose to sniff it.

"I'm tired," she explained eventually, chewing away at the food, "it's been a long day."

"When has that ever stopped us?" he argued and she chuckled and dragged her shoulders up.

"True enough. Could I convince you by saying that a truce would be worth it because it's Christmas?"

She batted her eyes and he couldn't stop himself from laughing.

"Uh…no?! If anything that only makes me more concerned."

She nodded as if she had predicted this answer and helped herself to another forkful of food.

"Listen, butler boy," she tried again after a while; perhaps she could feel his curious eyes on her still. "I really am just tired. It was lovely at Noel's with just the right amount of family madness."

He hummed in disbelief but gave her some time while she polished off the meal.

"Could I have a refill?" she asked then, reclining comfortably on the sofa again.

"Could I stop you?" he questioned, arching one eyebrow.

"Good point, just pour already."

He feigned hesitating for just a second longer to see how much it would irk her but whatever angry mood he'd detected earlier seemed to have evaporated and made room for this peculiar apathy.

The Whiskey bottle wasn't far out of reach and while scooping it up, he helped himself to a glass as well. Giving them both equal measures of liquor stirred memories of a different kind and so he sank down next to her with a heavy sigh.

"So tell me, how many times has Nanny Fine cornered Maxwell underneath a cleverly placed bit of mistletoe now?" C.C. asked after a while of silence.

"Too many to count. Though they both also really bonded over the children."

"Isn't that sweet?" she hummed dryly, rolling her eyes. "Now you can stop torturing me with stories. I asked once out of politeness, let's leave it at that."

He lifted his hands in defeat and tilted his head to study her. Nothing really seemed amiss and yet she was acting strange.

"I'm surprised you asked at all. Usually you just like to pretend there's nothing going on."

"There comes a time to stop pretending…" she murmured, her lips turning upwards in a melancholy smile.

"And who offered that pellet of wisdom?" Niles inquired, nudging her to shake her out of the mood.

He didn't know what to do with her like that. He couldn't even remember a moment when they had actually just talked without throwing insults at each other.

"I know you'd love to claim that title but it was no-one actually."

"Come on now," he chuckled, nudging her again, "your brother? Your mother? Somebody must've made a comment about your lack of romantic connection."

He could watch her eyes turn colder as her temper began to rise again and, oddly, it put him more at ease.

"I have been reaching my own conclusions since the age of seven, Niles," she responded curtly, "and unsurprisingly I have done just the same now. It really isn't that difficult either when you find yourself without a date at family get-togethers time after time. And there is only so often one can announce one values one's work while being questioned if having a baby wouldn't be much more fulfilling."

The silence was deafening after her angry outburst until Niles, carefully and apologetically, reached for her hand and squeezed it.

"There's nothing wrong with that," he offered gently, "it's your life and your priorities."

"Then why am I still miserable?" she asked and the desperation in her light blue eyes made him forget to breathe for a second.

So what was he to say to that?

"Maybe you haven't figured out yet if there's something else you're missing?" he ventured carefully.

She hummed quietly in acknowledgement and intertwined their fingers.

"I was feeling lonely tonight. For the first time in a while."

He could hear the anxious question behind her words. Did that mean she was ready to settle down? Did that mean she needed a husband and a child to be happy?

"Nothing wrong with some company once in a while, Babcock," he tried to re-assure her, "whether permanently or temporary. Whatever works for you."

She nodded but remained silent and he allowed her a couple of minutes to gather her thoughts. Clearly this new revelation had left her shaken. After a while, however, he became all too aware of her hand that was still resting in his, of the scent of Chanel No. 5 that faintly infiltrated his nostrils and the warmth of her body that was resting against his. If he kissed her now, would they end up tangled in bed? Would they regret it in the morning? He wasn't sure, but he knew he needed more Whiskey and so he poured each of them another glass with his free hand.

"What did you want for Christmas, Niles?" she asked eventually and he chuckled.

"Now that's just between me and Santa, Babcock," he teased playfully and smiled when it made her laugh.

"In that case you can tell me, can't you? You called me Santa earlier."

"Touché," he chuckled along, tapping the side of his nose with his index finger. "I didn't ask for much, really. Just a peaceful evening."

"And a raise?" she added dryly.

"I don't think even Santa has that power."

"How about the peaceful evening then? Has that come true?"

"More or less," he nodded, squeezing her hand again.

And maybe that was just what they both needed. Maybe holding hands and talking would make a nice change. After all, C.C. Babcock didn't hold hands with just anyone, did she? And if that wasn't a Christmas miracle…


End file.
